Page 7 of The Alpha’s Unclaimed Mate

The rain hasn’t eased since I dropped her at her building, and I have one hand on the steering wheel, the other resting on the open window. I’ve never seen a woman be so angry at being rescued. My lips twitch as I recall the way she kept snapping at me.

I’m halfway up the connector before I remember something. Her car is still out there, dead on the shoulder, unlocked, the keys sitting in the ignition where she left them in her hurry to be rid of me. Tom won’t reach it tonight. Some pileup has him tied up on the main road, so the Ford will stay where it is until morning, and a stranger’s car left open in the dark is asking for trouble even in a town this small.

I turn around at the next break in the trees.

The road’s empty when I pull up behind her, my headlights washing over wet metal. I leave the umbrella on the passenger seat and step out into it. Rain has never bothered my kind. We don’t flinch from it like humans do, fumbling with umbrellas and hunched coats. I’m soaked through within seconds, and I couldn’t care less. I’ll grab the keys, lock the thing, and leave them at the house for Tom to collect when he hauls it in tomorrow.

Approaching the car, I look at it in disgust before kicking it lightly. “You don’t deserve to be on the road. You belong in the scrap yard.”

I pop the driver’s door and lean in.

That’s when it hits me.

Two scents, layered close in the small space. I caught the edge of one earlier, loading her bags, but my hands were full and my head was somewhere else. Now there’s nothing to pull me off it. I stay there with my head inside the car and cold water running down my collar, and I breathe her in.

Jessa. The warmer of the two, threaded through the seat and the wheel and the door she gripped. My wolf surges up, alert, straining toward the scent before I can stop it. The second scent is smaller, fainter, a child’s. The wolf shifts again, anxious now, pacing, like it wants to chase the trail down. I pull my head out of the car, unsettled. First the mother, now the kid. Nothing about tonight is normal.

I snag the keys, back out, and shut the door. The lock thunks. Then I jog to my car, drop in dripping, and shove her keys into my jacket pocket.

I’m distracted throughout the drive, my thoughts returning to a woman who I should’ve forgotten as soon as I dropped her home. Considering how rude she was, it makes even more sense not to think about her.

The image of her flashes in my mind, wariness and attraction wrapped in one foul-tempered but very pretty package. I don’t pay much attention to women. I can’t afford to, not with a little girl to raise. But Jessa made me forget my own rules for a moment there. I didn’t even care if she was married. When my hands were on her waist, her scent surrounding me, all I wanted was to taste that mouth.

I tighten my jaw.

What is wrong with me?

My wolf stirs for a brief second before settling back inside. I let out a gust of air. Maybe I should go for a run tonight. This could be my wolf’s way of saying it’s been cooped up for too long.

The porch light’s on when I pull up the drive. Mrs. Dunn left dinner and went home hours back, so the house should be dark, but blue TV light flickers across the front hall. I push the door open, peeling off my soaked jacket.

A little girl is curled on the couch in her pajamas, fair hair slipping loose from two braids, a blanket kicked half to the floor. She twists around at the sound of the door, blinking up at me with pale green eyes heavy with sleep, then turns back to the cartoon she’s watched a hundred times.

“Hey, Bell.” I drop the jacket over a chair. “What are you doing up? It’s a school night.”

“Couldn’t sleep.” She doesn’t look up.

I cross to the couch and crouch in front of her, blocking her view of the screen. “It’s way past your bedtime. Why are you still awake?”

“I was hungry.” She picks at a thread on the blanket, eyes everywhere but on me.

“I left food in the fridge for you. Chicken and potatoes.”

“I don’t like that,” she mumbles.

That earns her a raised brow. “Since when? You go crazy for chicken and potatoes. You ask for it every single week.”

“Well.” One small shoulder lifts. “I don’t know.”

I study her. Bella isn’t a sulky child. She’s the easiest kid I’ve ever known, sweet to a point that worries me some days, so this mood tells me something’s wrong before she says a word. I lower myself onto the couch and pull her into my lap, blanket and all. She comes without a fight, tucking her head under my chin. Small for nine, always has been, she fits against me with room to spare.

“Talk to me, Bell.” I keep my voice low. “What happened?”

For a moment, she stays quiet. Then, in a tiny voice, she says, “Chloe called me about the math homework.”

“Okay.” I rub a slow circle on her back. “And?”

“She was talking about Emma’s party.” Her lip wobbles. “There’s a birthday party this weekend. The whole class is going.” She swallows hard. “Everybody but me.”